Mercs and Trenchs
by TheSandIsCold
Summary: It's the year 1919, and the war is grinding to a halt. The Germans have created a new superweapon, which can temporally make their men invincible. the situation is desperate for the Allied forces. A group of six elite soldiers is sent on a mission to destroy the source of the German army's power, and stop it taking over Europe. Never has the world has been in the hands of so few.


**I've had this idea for month now, but I was already writing the two last chapters of Third Party. Luckily, I finished them a short time ago, so I could concentrate myself on this one. The inspiration first came to me when I saw an impressive display of fan art representing the TF classes during the 1920's, created by Ramida-R. I suggest you check it out, it's very good.**

_**All quiet on the Western Front**_

All was quiet on the Western front. Nothing moved. The only sound you could hear was the occasional crow that squawked in the sky, looking for some dead body which could provide it with food, but it was becoming more and more problematic these days, most of the corpses being buried deep underneath the mud. The landscape, once a nice green looking field, looked like a wasteland. You could see holes everywhere. There were only a few trees, but most of them were dead looking, having no leaves and very little branches. Occasionally, you could spot the body of a dead cart horse, it's hooves up in the air. Barbed wires were omnipresent on the landscape, taking the places of the bushes and brambles which used to proliferate in the fields. And just like them, they stung. But even these spiked wires couldn't stop the behemoths that the war had birthed. Three or two of their metallic carcasses lay around, their flanks ripped open by shell fire.

The German trench was pretty silent. There had not been any offensive for four days, so the soldiers had had a few moments of peace before going back to battle. Two guards had been posted just in case the Allies made a sneak attack.

[Translated from German]

''_So Hans, do you have any idea what you're going to do once you get your permission ?_'', the first one said, clutching tightly on to his Kar 98 rifle, due to the cold weather.

''_Good question, Pieter._'', his comrade exclaimed, ''_I think, first of all I will go and see my dear mother in Berlin. She's very worried about me. I need to send her letters at least once every two days, or she starts panicking. My father tries to calm her as much as he can._''

''_What about Emma ? You told me you you were madly in love with her._''

''_Of course I would go and see her. Just have to take line number 9 at Berlin's Hauptbahnof, and one hour later I'm at her village. It's very nice over there, the village is very colourful, and there are lots of pretty flower beds._''. He took out a photo from one of his pockets. The photo showed the soldier in casual clothing, next to a peasant girl. Both were smiling. In the back ground, you could seea nice flower patch, composed of all sorts of flowers including lilys, daisies, roses and even poppies.

''_Have you asked her yet, Hans ?_'', the first guard said.

''_No, I don't think it would be a good thing. I'd marry her one day, and the next I would have to go back to the front line, without seeing her for months. I don't think it would make her happy._''

''_Are you sure ? What if you died before that happened ? She'd never never know then...''_

_''Well, I'll just have to survive until then''_

At the same moment, another soldier approached them. He was short in stature, and carried a deadly looking wooden bat with spikes on it.

''_Gutentag, guys. I hope ya don't find it too cold out here ?''_

_''Thanks for your concern, comrade,but it's okay, these coats keep us warm enough.''_

_''Oh..okay, well...ah guess you don't need me then...'', _the young man said.

_''No it's okay. Stay a bit. What's your name ?'', _said the second soldier.

_''Euh...Johan.''_

_''Well, Johan, I hope you have something interesting to say. We've still got 2 hours until we're replaced.'' _He then turned towards Hans.''_On the count of three we jump on him !_'', he said.''_What ? Why ?_'', his friend responded.''_You'll see._'', he replied, ''_Now, ein, sweis, drei..._''. They instantly jumped on the young man, and after a short scuffle, they disarmed him and held him at gunpoint.

''What the hell !'', he yelled in a perfect English, although you could hear from his accent that he seemed to originate from America, more particularly from the North East coast.

''I confounded you, you verdamnt Amerikaner !'', the German said, ''It was a bold attempt to try and infiltrate our troops. Unluckily for you, your accent is so bad, even my baby niece could tell you're not German.''

''Well, I guess the game's up, dude.'', the American laughed nervously.

''Silence, you foul mouthed pig. Where did you get these uniforms ?''

''I killed soldiers.''

''I already knew that. How ?''

''The same way mah comrade is disposing of your friend.''

The German soldier didn't have time to respond, as he heard a sickening crunch. He turned around and to his horror, saw his friend Hans lying on the ground, his neck snapped. Standing over him was a giant of a man. He was at least 6 foot 5 in height, and his arms were as thick as bazookas. He had a bandoleer of high calibre bullets strapped across his chest, and slung on his back, was a massive Hiram Maxim machine gun. The soldier aimed his Kar-98 rifle at the giant, and fired, only to find in horror that his enemy had deviated the gun. The bald monster then took the Kar-98's cannon in his other hand, and twisted it. The German backed away, only to feel something against his back. He turned around, only to be smacked in the face by the American's spiked bat. He fell to the muddy ground, his jaw dislocated and his left eyes poached out. The Allied soldier then bashed him a couple of times to make sure he was dead.

''Did ya find anything ?'', he asked to the giant.

''Nyet.'', he responded.

''All right, then lets get out of there.''

The Bostonian scrambled out of the trench, then started making his way through the barbed wires, occasionally cutting and trampling on them. The Russian behemoth stayed for a few seconds, meditating on his actions. He crouched near the soldier he killed, having remarked the photo in his hand. He picked it up, and sighed, having seen its content.

He looked at the dead soldier, and said one word :

''Sorry''

''Hey Ruskie'', he heard the American calling him, ''Move it !''. He wished he could strangle the scrawny Bostonian one day. He could be quite annoying sometimes.

The Russian man hoisted himself out, then went after his fellow soldier. He caught up to him, and they both trudged their way through the no-man's land. It was a sorry sight. Five years of war had not been good for this part of France. There was not a single patch of grass left, and this was originally a forest.

Dead trees littered the landscape, there were so many holes that the soldiers of each country could have set their tents in them. The two men walked for five minutes, without exchanging a word, until the Russian giant spoke :

''He had girl, you know.''

''Who are ya talking about ?!'', the Bostonian replied, confused.

''Man you killed.''

The US volunteer scoffed, and looked, with a shocked air at his comrade.

''What ?! That bloody, fucking Kraut ?! Misha, that dude would have killed me !''

''But you killed him.''

''That's fucking normal.''

''You have girl as well, don't you ?!'', the Russian asked.

''Ah...No.''

''Don't lie to me...Misha seen you in sick bay staring at nurse with black glasses.''

''Heh, I was j-just looking at the medical equipment she held...I'm interested in that stuff.'', The Bostonian said, feeling slightly flustered.

''That is most stupid excuse Misha has heard.''

''It's not an excuse. And you just can't judge my intentions just by looking...''

The Russian giant was starting to get fed up of hearing the scrawny Bostonian boy yap on and on.

''If tiny man doesn't shut up, Misha will break his neck.'', he said suddenly, in a cold tone.

The young man immediately complied, for he knew what his fellow soldier was capable of when he was angry.

All of a sudden, the air was filled with objects whistling through the air. They knew what it was. Shells. Lots of them. And by the sound of it, they weren't being fired from the British trenches.

Jeremy was the first to react. The scrawny Bostonian darted towards the allied positions. He zigzagged through the No man's Land, avoiding the barbed wires, jumping over holes, and occasionally, althought unintentionally, stomping on a couple dead bodies.

''Come on, Ruskie, move it.'', he yelled behind him.

The Russian giant wasn't as fast as the American. But he kept up his pace. He ran up an improvised path made out of wooden planks, pushed aside a couple wires, passed aside a busted FT-17, then came to a plain area of mud. The Allied lines were only a hundred feet away. They had to go fast. The barrage of shells was slowly approaching their trenches, and the first wave of German troopers would probably charge shortly after he end of this.

_Nyet_, he thought, _puny Germans are probably already at ladders of their trenches._

The thought wasn't a pleasant one. He cleared the last 50 feet, then jumped into the trenches. He landed with a small thud, which startled a couple soldiers. They quickly aimed their rifles at him. He raised his arms in the air, then showed his face. They recognized him, and let their weapons down. Misha noticed that they were all wearing gas masks. Some of them were even wearing light body armour. Jeremy must have warned them. He went to his bunk while most of the soldiers trooped towards the first trench.

Inside the barracks, the Russian went to an armour stand. He took of the heavy plates, and started putting them on. First, two metal protections for his knee caps protections. Then, there was the heaviest part of the armour, which protected his torso, stomach, his crotch, and the upper part of his legs. After this, he slapped a metal padding on each of his shoulders. And finally most important of all, he lifted up the custom helmet, put it on his head, and shut the visor. The headpiece had been specially designed to cover his hole head. The helmet was thicker than the normal soup-boles that the casual soldiers wore. It also had a metal visor, a thick, curved slab of iron, with only a slit for his eyes.

He walked to an old looking military chest, with a padlock on it. After opening it, he took out his favourite weapon : a modified Maxim machine gun, which could be held manually. Although it was a difficult task for most soldiers to wield such a heavy gun, it was a piece of cake. He marched out, and went to join his fellow soldiers. When he arrived at his post, everyone was ready. Each soldier was at their position, waiting for the oncoming surge of Teutonic soldiers. He was looking for Jeremy, and saw him talking to Major Bidwell.

The last echoes of the artillery barrage ceased, and calm came down once again on the No Man's Land. The soldiers tensed, as the eary silence installed itself. The only thing you could now hear in the Trench was the rasping sound of each soldier's breathing.

Then finally it came. They all felt it, the shudder of the earth, as hundreds of men charged towards them. Then they heard the screams, the battle cries in the distant. The German troops, the _TotenKorps, _were charging towards their position. And it seemed that no quantity of barbed wires or obstacles were stopping them.

Major Bidwell pulled out his revolver, and stood on one of the exit ladders. He poked his head out, which was quite a bold thing to do, seeing that he wasn't wearing a helmet. You never knew, an enemy bullet could easily find its way into your skull.

''On my mark...'', he started,''Fire !''

The soldiers obeyed him. The first line was cut down by a hail of bullets. The Allied machine guns had sprung into actions, tearing up the soldiers like they were made out of paper. Misha rose out of hiding spot, and furiously jammed his Lewis's trigger. He bellowed out an outraging war cry, as he cut down line after line of _ TotenKorps. _He laughed, as the chaos of battle surrounded him.

''Ha, Ha, Ha, go back home, leetle Germans.''

He fired every single bullet, until the familiar clicking of the magazine indicated him that he was out of ammo. He crouched in his trench. Just as his head was about to go down, a bullet glanced off his helmet. The sound and the shock temporarily made his ears ring.

''Shit.'', he muttered.

His hearing came back just in time to hear footsteps. He turned around, only to see a German trooper charge him with the bayonet of his MP-18. The Russian managed to avoid it, and griped the gun by its magazine. He ripped it out of the troopers hand, and before the German could do anything, he impaled him with his own weapon. The soldier's body jerked violently, and it seemed the blow hadn't killed him. Misha pulled the trigger, killing his enemy. He saw another enemy soldier charging him. He took his Mosin-Nagant 1895 revolver, and shot the man in the stomach.

''Fuck you.'', he bellowed.

He looked out of the trench and asserted the situation. The first wave of German infantry had been practically annihilated, the machine guns had done their jobs. The second wave was coming. At the forefront of it were a dozen A7V tanks, with five or six captured Mark 8s. These would be difficult to destroy. He took his gun, and went to rejoin the rest of the battalion.

Meanwhile, one of the tanks was nearly at the trench. It crushed through the barbed wires. The Allied soldiers gave all they could, but their rifles were no match for the tank. Its machine guns spat out their lead, forcing the soldiers to take cover. All of a sudden, a projectile dropped next to it. Five seconds later, a formidable detonation occurred, blowing into the tank. Black smoke started to pour out of the vehicle. One of the hatches opened, and three German soldiers came out. They hoped out and started to run back to their own trenches.

''_Was ist das ?_'', one of them asked.

''_Grenada_'', the other one replied.

''_Warte ein Minute._'', the first one said all of a sudden, ''_Wo ist Frederich ?_''

They heard a scream behind them, from the smoke. At first nothing happened. Then, all of a sudden, something flew out from it, and landed at the feet off one of the soldiers. He picked it up, and realised, to his horror, that it was the head of his fellow soldier.

Something rose out of the smoke. The soldiers turned around, and what they saw shocked them. Standing in front of them was a black skinned Lady from Hell, wearing the classic tartan and hat worn by Scottish units, as well as a light armoured vest, to which were strapped eight or nine grenades. The man had an eyepatch on his left eye, but the most particular thing about him was his weapons. The man was wielding a claymore and a shield...in a war mostly run by tanks and guns.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then all of a sudden, the black Scotsman charged them, bellowing a terrifying war cry. The first German soldier tried to pull out his Luger, but he wasn't fast enough. The Scotsman decapitated him with a swift move of his blade. The second soldier managed to pull out his pistol, and immediately fired at his enemy. To his utter shock, the man used his shield as a defence, the bullets glancing off it. The trooper started to run, but he wasn't fast enough. The claymore pierced through his stomach, spilling out his guts as the Demolition man then took it out. The German stumbled a bit, not fully grasping the situation. Behind him, the Scotsman readied himself and brought his claymore in a deadly arc, swiftly cutting off his opponent's head.

Meanwhile, another German battalion had successfully entered the Trench. They quickly slew the two or three French soldiers who were guarding it, and advanced towards the other Allied troops, intending to flank them. They passed next to a few funk holes. All of a sudden, one of the troopers stopped near one of them, and peered into it.

_''Was ist das ?'',_the captain of the squad asked.

_''Ich dachte, ich hatte-''_, The soldier was brutally interrupted as a streak of flames erupted from the pot holes, roasting him alive.

The rest of his squad erupted into a panic. Some of them tried holding their ground, but the size of the trench was a disadvantage for them as they found themselves cramped against each other. A figure rose out of the hole. It was a medium sized figure, sporting big black boots, a thick pair of brown pants, and a thick beige-coloured vest. The figure's face was covered with a hood, and a US Model 1918 gas mask. It sported a large canister on its back, which was attached to a fire hose.

One of the troopers fired, but missed. The figure immediately hosed him with its flamethrower. The man screamed, and flailed around. His comrades couldn't even fire, for his body was blocking their view. A second soldier was set alight, so the rest decided to retreat further into the allied trenches. They ran for a short moment, through puddles, mud and even a few corpses. They arrived at an intersection. The way forwards was obstructed by a trench block, but there was a side way which seemed to lead towards the Allied communication trenches. The German Captain hesitated for a moment, knowing that there would be more enemies this way. On the other hand, he did want to have his men chargrilled. He took his decision, and the men followed him. One of the lingered a bit, and looked in the direction they'd come from.

_''Kome here !'', _The captain said.

The trooper turned around, and was about to follow, when a blazing projectile hit him in the face and killed him. The captain hastily retreated, joining his men. He'd lost sight of them, and hoped nothing had happened to them. He was about to get a bad surprise.

He arrived at an another intersection, and was shocked to see all his men lying in the mud, dead. He crouched next to one of them. The man had been cut to shreds, literally. It was as if he'd been shot up with a machine gun containing small artillery shells. It seemed all of his men had suffered a similar fate.

He cautiously peered into the communication trench. Well, it wasn't a trench to speak of, technically. It looked more like some sort of crossroads, an arena shaped hole with several trench accesses around it. But what caught the captain's sight was the contraption at the centre of the ''crossroad''. It looked like some kind of turret. It had two machine gun barrels on its side, and some kind of bocks on its top. The box had a red light on the left side of its face, which kept going on and off every three seconds. The machine itself produced a humming, and a occasional beep when the light flashed.

The Captain took out a _Steilhangrenade._ He was going to destroy this evil, lifeless machine which had cut down his men. He took off the metal capsule at the end of the grenade's handle, and prepared to arm it.

He never got a chance.

''Don't touch that darn thing !'', a ruff voice said.

A bullet shot into his skull, passing through of his spinal cord and coming through the left lens of his gas mask.

The man never knew what him. His killer went to inspect his body. He was a short, stocky man, wearing an outfit usually seen in the US Army's Engineering division. He wore on his head a pair of goggles and a Stetson, which he'd won in his youth during a rodeo back in Texas. He mused.

''He, he...They never do it right...Dead as a duck, Jerry boy.'', The man contemplated his last kill.

He heard the sound of boots sloshing in the mud, and turned around. Standing in front of him was the pyromaniac who'd inadvertently sent the Germans into his death trap.

''Ya sent here ?'', the man said.

''Uh-Hu.'', the figure mumbled back.

The American gave it a thumbs up.

''Good job pardener.''

''Hudda, hudda, uhuuuuh hahu hu-Uh, hu hu !''

Yeah, we'll am sure the boys can deal with it. Personally I call this a day.'', He said while pulling out a beer from one of his satchels.

As if testify his words, an explosion was heard, followed by the distant bellowing of an angry Scotsman.

Jeremy Simpson was doing what he knew to do best : Piss off Germans. The Bostonian climbed out of the front trench, and went in direction of the second lines, where he knew that some German infantry had managed to pierce. He knew there were several platoons of them, but he didn't know which one to attack first. He ran for a short while, and spotted a few German on his left. They were advancing in a crouching position, so they would be less easily spotted from the Second lines. He heard the distant sound of a flamethrower to his right, followed shortly after by what sounded like a pair of machine guns. The right flank was clear, Engineer and the Pyromaniac had seen to that. He went for the Germans on the left flank. He was out of grenades, so he'd have to act smart. He took out his M1911, and aimed for the Trooper at the back of the line of crouching Germans. His shot hit its mark, killing the man. The German turned around, but not before the American aimed his Browning Auto-5 at them. He was only at 10 meters of them now, which made the range of his weapon quite effective. He fired a first shot, which put two enemy soldiers out of action. He then jumped into the trench, and used one of the dead soldiers as a shield, and used his pistol to kill the last two of them.

After clearing the trench, Jeremy went back to the front lines. He didn't find any Germans here, they'd retreated. On the other hand, he found multiple wounded Allied soldiers, and a grim looking Major Bidwell.

The man saw him, and walked over to him.

''Your report, Corporal.'', He said.

The Bostonian saluted, and stood still, recounting the events he'd witnessed.

''Some Jerries were trying to penetrate the second lines, and the communication lines. Their attempts failed. I personally ensured that one of these parties failed, while a couple others were stopped on the right flank.''

''Good. Now get the others. I have something to tell you.''

**So there, first chapter of Mercs and Trenches.**

**Constructive criticism is welcome.**

**Until next time.**


End file.
